


Enarum: Lost Souls

by StrawberryRock



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Elves, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Family, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Fantastic, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gaelic Language, Gen, How Do I Tag, Muteness, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology - Freeform, Nymphs & Dryads, POV Alternating, Platonic Life Partners, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmates, Speciesism, Vampires, Witches, Worldbuilding, a bit I guess, can you tell this is my first work here?, depends on my mood, gets happier, might be some romance later on?, sassy children, starts off sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25121368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryRock/pseuds/StrawberryRock
Summary: When 17-year-old Quinton Bernard said he wanted to live, he meant like going to college or starting a family. you know, normal life stuff.He did NOT mean that he wanted to be transported to some fantasy world to help an elf stop a war by using a giant magical egg.but he supposed beggars couldn't be choosers.
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Male Character, Original Male Character & Original Male Character
Kudos: 6





	1. Before the Beginning

Quinton looked out the window and watched the never-ending stream of people on the sidewalks. To them, it was probably just a normal morning. But, somehow the day felt off, like he was part of a movie or something. A very boring movie. His throat hurt like hell, but he was too lazy to reach for the ice slivers the nurse had brought.  _ Whatever, they were probably all melted by now,  _ he thought.

Sometimes the young boy had found himself wishing something interesting could happen outside his little window, like a crime or an argument. One time, he’d seen a guy walk head-first into a mailbox. That was pretty funny. He wished that would happen again.

A bleach-blond young lady in a green polka-dotted sundress waltzed in and abruptly yanked back the curtains the rest of the way. Quinton winced, his eyes stinging. He didn't think his sister was coming today, but he wasn't really keeping track of the days either. It must have been a Sunday. Or maybe a Tuesday?

“Hey,” He whined, his voice scratchy from the constant coughing, “Why do you always have to barge in here like that? I was trying to think.” he was happy to see her, but it wasn't like he was going to tell  _ her _ that.

She shrugged, crossing her arms “Can’t have too many interesting thoughts cooped up here all day. Besides this room was too dark and gloomy, it’s bad for your skin.”

“Car, the only people who see me are doctors, why the hell should I-” The boy's complaints were cut off by more coughing, he didn't have the energy to pull his arm up so he just turned to cough into the bed. They didn't know if what he had was contagious after all.

His sister silently handed him the cup on the stand. Quinton couldn't see her face but he's sure she had that same sad helpless expression his family always had coming in here. God, he's so tired.

“Still coughing?” she asked him quietly.

He just gave her a dry look, not wanting to waste his energy on such a dumb question. But there was something he was meaning to ask.

“Did the doctors say anything about the test results?”

She stared out the window for a while, then sighed. Quinton guessed that was probably a yes.

“Look... It’s almost time for your transfusion, you need-”

“Carmen.” he looked up at her, but… he was so exhausted. If she really didn't want to tell him, he wouldn't have the energy to argue, and she knew it.

There was a long beat of silence.

“Mom said not to tell you.”

The boy sighed “Ah, so that means not good.” he looked into the cup Carmen had handed him.  _ Yep,  _ he thought,  _ Just water, and barely cold too. Typical. _

“Of course it’s not good! You couldn't breathe yesterday, how could what you have possibly be anything good?”

Quinton startled. He hadn't heard her raise her voice in years and probably would've dropped the cup if he had had the energy to hold it off the bed. He watched as she walked over to sit on the windowsill, though the ‘walk’ was about two steps. The room was uncomfortably small despite it being Quinton’s home for the past 2 years. 

It was the same boring washed out green hospital room that almost everyone gets when they come in, just on a different floor. Not that he needed the space anymore, he used to have an Xbox and TV in here for when he had felt up to it. He barely even left his bed these days.

They sat in silence for a while, sprinkled with some coughing.

He hoped Carmen wasn't crying, but he didn't feel like saying anything. It took too much energy these days to fake being okay. Or at least, his family's version of okay.

“You have pneumonia.”

Quinton hummed. That wasn't good, but it wasn't any worse than what he was expecting. Though he supposed it made sense why Carmen was so shook up about it. He's always been a pessimist in a family of optimists. Sometimes he wonders if it would be easier on them if it was the other way around.

“Are you not going to say anything?” she didn't seem angry, just … drained.

“What would you like me to say?” he replied, “that sucks?”

It did, he supposed. From what he had heard, pneumonia was known to finish off a lot of old and weak people. He let out another dry cough that he could feel down to his bones. Carmen had that stupid sad look again.

“Why do you never take your condition seriously Quinton?”

“I do take it seriously. I think that's the problem.” he looked at her with a bitter smile “You and mom… still have some kind of hope.” a stuffy silence followed his words.

He could hear the telltale fast clopping of his mom's heels down the hallway. “Quinton! You need to get ready for your transfusion!” she said, walking swiftly into the room.

Their mother was a short and cheerful lady, with mid-length brown hair. She always wore some type of high heel. She told them it was because she liked how they felt on her feet, but Quinton was pretty sure it was just because they made her feel taller. She didn't seem to be particularly emotional today, but he knew that was only because she was better at hiding it. 

“I'm ready mom, it's not like I really need to do anything” he responded “Just shove me in the chair and wheel me to my doom” he tried to raise my arms in the air for the dramatic effect but they didn't make it very high.

“Oh it can't be that bad, you  _ Nouille _ ” Carmen smirked at him, getting off the windowsill.

“No Car, it's worse. Trust me, it really sucks.” he paused, oh no “no pun intended”

Carmen let out a shriek of laughter as their mother began helping Quinton into his wheelchair “Oh my God!” she slapped her knee. “Sucks!” he rolled his eyes. He had forgotten how insufferable her sense of humour was.

The transfusions weren't that painful but they went on forever and really sapped his energy. Last month they had started him on one a day, and now he feels like he spends all his time hooked up to that thing.

The transfusion was as tiring as always, but his mom and sister’s chatter managed to take his mind off it a bit.

“So Quinton, are you still having those dreams?” his mother asked, brushing his dirty blond hair out of his face, it was almost getting long, the longest it had been in years. “The ones with the little girl?”

“Yep.” he replied. It was easier for him to use short sentences, that way he didn’t need to stop short to take a breath and needlessly worry his family. “Almost every night actually. It’s kind of weird but I’m used to it.”

“I’m telling you, dear, she has to be your guardian angel or something.” she smiled at him excitedly, her curls bouncing as she turned her head, “It makes sense, right?”

It didn't. For one, he was pretty sure angels didn't exist, and also the girl that he’d been dreaming up didn't exactly radiate friendliness. She never said anything so he guessed he really had no idea what she was like, but she seemed to glare and roll her eyes a lot. He didn't say any of that to his mom though. She really liked the angel idea, and he didn't want to ruin that. Especially if he wasn't going to be there for much longer.

“What do  _ you _ think they mean,  _ nounou _ ?” Carmen asked, smiling. She knew he wouldn't believe the angel thing, he doubted she did either.

“They probably don't mean anything.” he muttered quietly and shrugged as best as he could around the tubes “Just the meds.”

Carmen nodded slowly, accepting his answer, but their mother pouted. She wasn't particularly religious but liked to believe in fate and an afterlife of some kind. Whereas Quinton and his sister were usually more realistic.

The end of the transfusion also marked the end of the visit. Quinton was sad to see them go, but he really needed the rest. Not that his family was particularly tiring, but he found everything exhausting these days. Being around them made him feel guilty, they were always so sad when they came, and it might not be his fault but it was because of him. 

His mom assured him that they would be back next week to celebrate his birthday. She sounded like she might be crying, but they were both out of sight by the time I lifted my head up.

000

It took Quinton a while to realize what was going on. The rest of the day had passed in a series of naps and coughing fits. The nurse had taken his temperature and informed him that his fever hadn’t gotten any worse than this morning. It was getting harder and harder for him to swallow but he couldn’t tell if that was because of his sore throat or just lack of energy. The sky was dark now but he wasn't sure of the time. He couldn't find the willpower to look at the old clock that hung beside his door. Nighttime was when thinking was easiest, not that he looked forward to it. This was his life now and he sure hated it. There was nothing to do and the constant tiredness felt like it was eating away at him. It made it hard to talk. It made it hard to think. But worst of all it made it hard to breathe.

He finally found the willpower to turn and look at the clock and squinted.

It was all blurry. He couldn't make it out. That's never happened before. Come to think of it his eyes were getting harder to keep open. Oh, he must be dreaming, that's it. Weird dream. But then where was the little girl? The one with the silver eyes? She was in all his dreams lately. Why is his head spinning, he’s not moving. And he doesn't remember closing his eyes either, that's weird.

Oh. He couldn't… he couldn't take a breath.

That's bad right? And yet... it was hard to remember why. He heard a far off beeping noise. Is it his alarm, waking him up? He hopes so, he doesn't like this dream. He still couldn't breathe. He couldn't move either. He really wanted to wake up now. Where was the girl? His mom had said she was his guardian angel, right? Where was she? Where was his mom? He wants his  _ maman _ . He can't breathe. He needs his  _ maman _ . 

He was going to die.

He had known that for a while. He thought he would be okay. But he didn't know it would be like this. He felt like he had been buried alive. He could hear the pounding of his heartbeat. Usually, at this point he wouldn't be able to stop hyperventilating. He didn't want to die. It's not fair. It's not  _ fair _ , it's not. He hadn't even turned 18 yet. He never got to do half the things he wanted, even knowing his hopelessly short life. The things teenagers are promised. Messy relationships and hard changes. Life. Where was his guardian angel? It seemed like the beeping was getting farther and farther away the more he desperately tried to take a breath. He didn't want to die. Please.

_ Please. _

There was no response, only darkness and the feeling of never-ending pressure.

Was he dead? No. _ No _ , he couldn’t be dead! There was so much he had wanted to do. He had known he would never get to do them really. It just didn't feel real until now.

He had wanted to go to college. To see someone walk into that mailbox one more  _ damn _ time. He wanted to live. He wanted to  _ live. _

He wanted to live!

_ ‘Okay.’ _

__

Quinton took a choking breath and woke up.


	2. Calming Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinton wakes up after his death and tried to figure out what the hell he's supposed to do now.

Quinton had been laying there for at least 20 minutes. Not that he knew where ‘there’ was. 

He seemed to be in a sort of grassy forest-like area. He could hear some birds and see some trees in the distance. He hadn't tried to get up yet. 

He remembered dying. Suffocating in his own bed, like a horrible vivid nightmare. It can't have been fake. Maybe he was dreaming? _There's a thing people do where they pinch themselves and wake up right?_ He pinched his forearm, hard. Nope, nothing. Just pain.

So this must be some kind of afterlife? It certainly doesn't look like any kind of hell he’d ever seen in movies. Not that he thinks he did anything worth going there for. So was it heaven? He doesn't think he really did anything that put him in there either, it’s not like he had lived very long after all. It certainly looks very green. Maybe there was some sort of middle ground afterlife.

He took a deep breath.

No pain. No coughing. His throat wasn’t sore and he didn't feel dizzy at all. 

Was he... completely healed? Of _everything_? Well, he supposed it kind of made sense that dying gave your body a factory reset of some sort. You probably can't die once you're in the afterlife, right? Who’s he kidding, that doesn't make any sense, but nothing about this situation does.

Quinton’s thoughts raced, but he tried to keep his mind off of the fact that he’d never see his family again. Maybe he was in shock? He certainly remembers the terrifying shitshow that happened not even an hour ago. 

Or maybe it was longer? He has no idea. 

He finally sat upright. He didn't mind the cold feeling of the grass on his legs. It had been so long since he had felt grass, probably a year at least. Looking down, the boy noticed he was still in his hospital gown. That's a little embarrassing, but he supposed that if everyone here showed up in the clothes they died in there would be a whole bunch of people in hospital clothes. 

_Were_ there other people here? 

Quinton hadn't seen anyone but he hadn't really been looking. That would really suck if he was stuck in here forever by himself. He valued his alone time as much as the next guy but he’d definitely go nuts after a while.

Quinton looked up at the tree line to his right and sighed. Wherever he was certainly was beautiful, the leaves on the trees were so green. Were trees always that pretty? Did he forget what they looked like from being inside for so long or were the trees here just supernaturally nice-looking?

Quinton finally stood on shaky legs. He wished he had a walking stick or something. His legs were obviously not the best, but he didn’t feel the usual dizziness from standing and he definitely had more strength than he did this morning. So he stumbled forward. Towards what looked like a pond to his left. Maybe the water would also be supernaturally pretty.

Walking felt nice. Not physically, though. It hurt like a bitch, he felt very achy, like how he imagined people felt after waking up from a coma. But it had been so long since he could go anywhere without someone helping. It calmed him down. He could be himself again. Be in control. Go places without bothering anyone. Do things without being a burden. 

He slowly, painstakingly made it the edge of the water and sat to stare at his reflection. 

He looked good actually. Well not really, he was still pale and he never really liked his lips, they were always just big enough to look weird. But you couldn't tell he was sick (or used to be sick) just from looking at himself anymore. His hair was a good 2 inches long and he actually had some colour on his face. 

He wondered if he’d get a tan from being out here. Can you get a tan even if you're dead? Hm, that's something he’d never thought of before _._ He pictured Carmen's beautifully tanned skin and wondered if he'd ever look like that.

He doesn't notice the first tear until it drips into the water below him. Even if he did get a tan it won't make any difference now, would it? He won't see them again anyway. He won't see _anyone_ again. 

He didn't want to break down here, defenceless and confused. He had been planning on getting his bearings first if that was even possible. But it was difficult not to think about everything he’d lost when he was out here all alone, staring at his somehow healthy reflection.

Quinton hoped they would be okay without him. But part of him also selfishly wondered how long it would take them to forget. To forget about the wonders and horrors that they shared. His sister’s nicknames for him. The songs his mom would sing on the bad nights. 

_Because that's when you're really dead, isn't it?_ He thought, _When they forget about you._

_How long will it take me to forget them?_

Maybe he wasn't completely healed because, as he cried uncontrollably into the pond, Quinton felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. 

And for the first time in his life, Quinton wished he was still sick in that hospital bed. 

000

He'd probably been sitting there moping for almost an hour before he finally heard something other than the birds. Sticks breaking somewhere in the forest. Maybe a deer or something?

Or maybe it was a person. 

He wiped his face on his only article of clothing. If it was a person and he didn’t get to them, who knows how long it would take the next one to come. It's not like there was anyone to greet him when he got here like in that one Harry Potter movie, and he certainly can't survive in the wilderness on his own.

Quinton had drunk some of the magic pond water. Probably not his best idea, but he was already dead, right? He had no idea how he would find food. He used to have quite an appetite before things got really bad. Did he still need to eat in this place?

It took him about a minute or so to wobble his way to the edge of the forest, from there he could hold onto the trees. He probably looked like an escaped mental patient, complete with a hospital gown.

He paused, his hand gripping what looks like a huge oak tree. What if the noise _did_ come from an animal, but like, a big dangerous people-eating kind of animal. What if he just walked to his death?!

Another noise. Closer. Quinton turns his head as fast as he can without losing his balance. 

Oh, it's just a guy. 

Not very evil-looking but certainly seems like he's judging him on his clothing choices.

“Uh, hey?” Quinton blurted out eloquently.

The man seemed to be a bit older than Quinton, maybe in his early 20’s. He had tan skin, brown eyes and fairly short curly brown hair. His lithe muscles and that fact he was almost a head taller than Quinton made him a little jealous. Not to mention those killer cheekbones. He was wearing a straw hat, which, along with his smooth-looking skin, made him seem pretty young. But his expression had a sort of seriousness to it. 

“Hello traveller, do you require my assistance?” he replied. 

The guy talked like he came out of a movie, very fancy and proper. Maybe he had died a while ago? He seemed to be wearing some old-fashion clothes. A dark blue vest over a loose long-sleeved white shirt with black knee-high pants. He guessed it would make sense that people would keep the quirks and stuff from when they lived. God, this was so complicated. Did living here come with a guidebook? 

“Um, sure. I just recently, um died. Do you know where I am?” Quinton asked. 

“You ...died?”

He didn't seem to understand, maybe there was a different word for it here? They could have their own unique society and language of different time periods all mashed together. Quinton pushed back a pang of grief thinking of how much his sister would have loved this. He wished she could have been here.

“Uh-huh, so where are we?” he hoped the guy could understand that at least. 

“You are on the outskirts of Ravenswood.” he paused, then after Quinton didn't react added, “It’s west of Dar mountain.” 

Quinton looked up and turned around a bit, squinting at the harsh sunlight. Oh yeah, he could see a mountain, that must be east then. That told him shit-all though, as he didn’t know where he was going anyway. 

“Do you know how to get back to, like… other people? some sort of town maybe? Or, I guess I could follow you to wherever you're going. What’s your name, by the way, I’m Quinton.” he said, giving him a, hopefully, friendly-looking, Smile. 

The guy sniffed “I would prefer it if you didn't.” 

Ouch okay, Cheekbone-man doesn't like him too much. Well, he supposed the guy could be going to a private place or something, and he has no reason to trust him.

“Do you not have any companions in which you share your travels?” he asked, irritated. 

“No? I just died remember? I didn't take my friends with me like some sort of psycho.” Quinton replied. 

Was this guy not listening? Or did he just not understand? If he had other people with him then he wouldn't be asking a complete stranger for help. Especially help getting to literally any random town. He ran a hand through his blond hair, grimacing when he discovered some twigs stuck at the back.

“I believe I fail to understand your meaning. You ‘died’ is that some sort of hu- some sort of colloquialism?”

He seemed to be getting more and more pissed off, which didn’t bode too well for Quinton survival status. 

“Hey man, I don't know what that word means, okay? I barely made it to 10th-grade English, gimme a break. I mean like... I stopped living and I woke up here. Is there another name for that?”

His rambling didn't seem to be helping things, but it had been so long since he could talk this much without getting tired. He was drunk on his new somewhat-healthy body, not to mention still freaked out about this whole situation. His friends had told him he was too quiet. But when he gets stressed out, _hoo_ boy.

“Yes, that has the same meaning here. But if you died how are you still drawing breath? Were you revived by someone?” the man hopped on his feet in a jittery way, the smooth movements barely shaking his loose shirt.

“No I was- wait you mean you haven't died? Isn't this some sort of afterlife?” he asked. Oh my god, he was making a complete _fool_ of himself, wasn’t he? 

Cheekbone-man raised a single eyebrow and smirked at him “You believe to be… in heaven?” He chuckled.

He stared at Quinton differently now, less as if he was bored of him and more like he was having fun questioning his mental state. 

“Well, I don’t know!” Quinton threw up his hand that wasn’t anchoring him to the tree “I remember _dying_ . In a _hospital_. And now I'm here, totally fine. So I obviously assumed this was where people go when they die.” He blurted out defensively. Glancing up at the sky, he noticed it was starting to get dark. God, how long had he been out here?

“This is most certainly _not_ where the dead are placed and you are not one of them,” he said in a calm, no-nonsense voice. It reminded Quinton of how the nurses talked to him sometimes. Used to talk to him.

If the people here weren't dead… then where was he? Was this his own personalized afterlife where everyone was fake except for him? Nah, that seemed like a lot of work to have one of those for everyone. 

“Now if you'll excuse me, you have kept me long enough.” the man announced, as he started to turn around. 

That sure tore Quinton from his thoughts. 

“W-wait you, you can't _leave_ me here!” he yelped.

“The closest welcoming village is in that direction, about 5 hours.” he pointed to his right as he wandered off, disinterested. 

“But it's getting dark and I-I'm sick!” Quinton protested, attempting to hobble after the man, “Oh. I'm not sick anymore actually… But I still can't walk that good!” he called. The guy ignored him, walking a bit faster. 

Quinton swallowed as he started to panic, he could almost feel the blood drain out of his face as he realized how bad of a situation he was in. Completely alone in the wilderness with nothing but a hospital gown. How cold would it get? What kinds of animals were in this forest? What things were edible? He didn't even know where he was, let alone how to _survive_ outside here in the wilderness. God, Cam was right, he should’ve been a boy scout.

He let go of the tree and steadied himself. No, he can't survive out here. 

Not alone at least. 

“Wait, I’m sorry! Please don't leave!” Quinton yelled as he took off running. Well, it was more of a fast stumble. It seemed to do the trick though, as it didn't take long to catch up to the man, who turned and scowled in his direction. 

“I will not be saddled with your madness, you are not my problem, child.” he sneered but didn’t run away or walk any faster, which Quinton appreciated. Small mercies. 

“Look I'm not mad, and I'm not a child either, you can't be that much older than me anyway. I just-” he bit his lip, “I know that I won't make it out here on my own, and I really don't want to die. Again.” he added and felt his voice crack. “ _Please_ , I’ll leave as soon as we meet other people, I _promise_.”

“Absolutely not.” the man growled, “I am not travelling to a place where you would be allowed nor do I want to be seen with you.” 

Many things happened at once.

Cheekbone-man had looked like he was about to start full-on power-sprinting away, so Quinton, in a panicked act of desperation, grabbed onto one of his baggy sleeves. This caused the guy to side-step quickly to the left, to try and shake him off. Right into what must have been a thin layer of dirt or plants or something with _nothing_ beneath.

And so the man, and the boy attached to his sleeve, fell through the ground into a newly opened hole.

Quinton felt the impact of the bottom before he could register what the hell just happened. Luckily, he seemed to have landed on his back and hadn't broken his skull on a rock. Unluckily, the hole was still pretty deep. And he. Couldn't _breathe_. 

Oh god, he can’t take a breath. He's going to die again. 

How could he be such a screw up to have his life back for a single day, only to die in such a _stupid_ way? He finally took a few gasping, much-needed breaths. Okay, not going to die. He wasn’t dying. Not yet. He tried to calm himself down, sitting cross-legged he held his head in shaky hands, breathing deeply and as slowly as he could manage. He knew that hitting your back like that knocks the breath out of someone, he wasn’t an idiot. 

So why did that freak him out so much?

He felt around his own still-trembling body like he learned in that first aid course he took a couple of years ago but he doesn't seem to be bleeding from anywhere. Just really sore. Wow, he really got a body upgrade coming here, didn't he? This was almost a video game. 

Quinton looked up at the Big Hole™. It wasn't as high as it had felt, maybe about 14 feet deep, but it didn't look like there was anything around he could use to climb with. If the two of them- wait. The _two_ of them.

That guy hadn't said anything yet. Oh god, was he dead? This was all Quinton’s fault, did he just _kill_ a person? He should’ve just minded his own business and wandered the forest alone like the socially awkward wimp that he was. 

He turned to find cheekbone-man… frantically searching the ground. Uh, okay. Did he lose something? He wasn’t wearing glasses before, was he? Must be something important by the desperate way he was looking for it. It explains why he hadn’t said anything yet. Not that Quinton was complaining, the guy didn't seem to like him before, he must be absolutely furious now. And he never did do too well with raised voices. 

Oh, duh. He was missing his straw hat, that’s what he was looking for. Now he could see the rest of the guy’s loosely curled dark hair and his… hm. His ears were very pointed at the tip. Probably some sort of birth defect. Oh, that could be why he really wants his hat. He must not be confident with his ears. Quinton felt horrible, it was his selfish ass that caused this mess. 

He took a deep breath. 

“Hey, I'm really sorry I made us fall down here.” he rubbed his hands together, “It's totally my bad, I shouldn't have grabbed you like that.” He stood up and began to make his way towards Cheekbone-man “I'll help you find your hat, then we can try an-”

“Get away from me, human!” he snarled, still crouched and threw a handful of what was probably dirt in Quinton’s direction. He looked _very_ pissed off and… did he have an accent now?

“Woah, okay.” he stumbled back a bit and put his hands up in surrender “I’ll…uh, look over here then. I won't touch you, I’m sorry.” they stared at each other for a few seconds, the man’s intense dark eyes seemed to bear into him. Quinton swallowed nervously. He felt really bad, he didn’t mean to ruin this poor guy’s day. 

“You know.” He exhaled deeply.

“Sorry?”

“You know that I am an elf.” the man said with a deadly serious, almost determined voice that made the hair on Quinton’s arms raise. “And now I cannot allow you to leave here alive.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is my first fic on here so I'd appreciate any help or criticism you have to give me. Its been a while since I've written anything but essays and scientific papers so sorry if I'm a little rusty. 
> 
> At the time of posting this, I have a good 3 and a half chapters written so I hope you fall in love with the characters like I did.


End file.
